


Why Did It Have To Be You?

by Newsetofproblems



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, John is Pining, John's got a lotta shit going on tbh, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, paul is oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-22 23:23:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23002060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newsetofproblems/pseuds/Newsetofproblems
Summary: It was dangerous to be this drunk around Paul these days, with no other friends to joke with or girls to flirt at. The risk of him saying something stupid, something he couldn’t take back, was too high.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 20
Kudos: 125





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly just me practicing writing from John's perspective. Before this it was hard to see in my head how I would write John's voice. I think I've got a handle on it but I think there's still room for improvement.
> 
> Also this was originally gonna be a one shot but I decided to split it into two cause I'd realised the immediate conflict I set was resolved but not the feelings that lead to that conflict. So... enjoy!

John stared as Paul took a swig of the whiskey they were sharing between them. Paul looked back at him, clearly noticing the pair of eyes on him and smiled which caused John’s cheeks to grow hot. _Faggot!_ his mind shouted at him. It was just the two of them alone in the hotel room. George and Ringo had been there too at some point, but they’d gone back to their own rooms and now John had nothing to distract himself from Paul. It was bloody torture.

Paul was rambling about some bird he’d met in last night’s city. John wasn’t listening, of course. Instead he was staring at Paul’s lips wishing desperately he could close the gap between them to shut him up. It was dangerous to be this drunk around Paul these days, with no other friends to joke with or girls to flirt at. The risk of him saying something stupid, something he couldn’t take back, was too high.

It wasn’t fucking _fair_. Why him? Why did _he_ , of all four of them end up being the queer one? Any one of the other three would’ve made a better fag than him!

Although, in a small place in the back of his mind, John already knew why. He’d always been the fucked up one. The scary one, the one without a father around, the one who was raised by his aunt because his mother was loose. Made sense he’d end up being the queer one too.

“I just think she could’ve been more considerate in the end y’know?” Paul finished. John shrugged and lent over to grab the bottle.

“Well it’s yer own fault for choosing the ones with all looks and no brains,” he muttered. He forced out a chuckle on the end to make the comment sound more playful and took a gulp of the whiskey. When John met Paul’s eyes again, he wasn’t smiling, in fact his expression was rather stern.

“Now why wold you go and say something like that?” he asked. John snorted in response.

“Cause it’s the bloody truth,” he slurred. Paul’s frown deepened. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. We both know you aren’t lookin’ for substance, lad. Jus’ a nice body. That clean cut, boy next door attitude might work on the birds ye take to bed with ye but don’t try to tell me you want more than a quick shag like the rest of us!” Paul was looking at the ground by the time John was finished.

“Don’t be a git, John,” he murmured. John knew he should lay off, he _wanted_ to lay off, but Christ he couldn’t help himself.

“Oh, did I offend, Princess?” he spat. “My deepest apologies, I know your sensibilities can be rather delicate, I shouldn’t have reminded you’re a _degenerate_ like the rest of us-“

“Bloody hell, _shut up_ , John!” Paul yelled, fury visible behind his eyes. John looked away and took another swig of whiskey. He heard Paul stand up and leave the room, slamming the door behind him. John continued to sit, finishing the bottle in his hands.

_You’re a fucking coward, Lennon,_ his subconscious taunted. Shut up. _You can’t tell him how you feel so you make him cry instead._ Shut up, shut up. _And what’s worse, there’s a small part of you revels in it_. Shut up, shut up, shut up. _Makes you feel like you have in the palm of ye hand, doesn’t it? Cause that’s the only way you’ll have him. Fucking rich of you to call Paul a degenerate, take a look at yourself._ Shutupshutupshutupshutup SHUT UP.

John threw the bottle across the room, shattering it into thousands of pieces.

“Fuck,” he hissed. The hotel staff weren’t going to like that, though John couldn’t find it in himself to care. He collapsed on the bed and closed his eyes.

The first time it had happened John felt like the world had swallowed him whole. He was almost fifteen, he’d noticed some boy at Quarry Bank, how soft his cheeks looked or how inviting his eyes were. How attractive his body seemed. He remembered how waves of panic and fear had washed over him at that realisation. He’d torment that kid so badly that he wouldn’t show up to school the next year.

The second time, of course it was Elvis. He was in his room, jerking himself off hard and fast. His eyes had just kept slipping off his Bardot posters and onto his Elvis ones, his mind supplying him fantasies of strong hands touching him everywhere. His face, his hips, his nipples, his cock. Eventually, John found himself giving into the thoughts, letting pleasure overtake him, but afterwards he’d felt so disgusted with himself he could’ve been sick.

And then there was Paul. Why did it have to be _Paul_? John had always known there was a greater intensity behind his feelings for Paul that he’d preferred to leave unexamined. But then those unexamined feelings went and punched him in the stomach. They had been hitchhiking… somewhere, Christ, John didn’t even remember, and were staying the night in a cheap, one bed hotel room. Paul had fallen asleep before John and God, John hadn’t been able to take his eyes off him. The way the moonlight hit his face made him look like a bloody artwork. He looked so peaceful, lips slightly parted, long eyelashes on full display, face completely relaxed. The only indicator that he was alive was the rise and fall of his chest. And John couldn’t believe how overwhelming it all was. All he could think about was how much he wanted to hold Paul, to wrap his arms around him, to melt into him. To kiss him. To let him do to John whatever he pleased.

John had decided to sleep on the floor that night.

The first few knocks John ignored. He hoped whoever was at the door would take the hint and piss off. The knocking didn’t stop. John scrunched his eyes shut.

“Get fucked…” he tried to yell, but he was too tired and hungover to put any weight behind it.

“C’mon lad, we’re leaving for the train station in half an hour,” the other person said. _Ringo._ John groaned and stretched out his limbs.

“Why the fuck too we have to leave so earlyyy?” he whined. Ringo chuckled. _Bastard._

“You know why, there’d be a riot of girls if we didn’t.”

“Mnngh.”

The train ride was perfectly boring. The scenery was alright, nothing special. John, George and Ringo were playing monopoly to pass the time. John was losing. He didn’t particularly care. His head just kept replaying the evets of the previous night over and over. Paul needed to stop being so fucking sensitive. What John said had just been a light jab, but he’d taken it personally.

_You want to see him hurt_. John clenched his fists. _You’re hurt, so you want him to hurt, too._

“John, go, it’s your turn,” he heard George say.

_And he’s so oblivious to it too, it’s goddamn infuriating._

“John?”

_It hurts just to fucking_ look _at him sometimes, it’s only fair that he hurts, too. Is that your logic? You’re a monster._

“Joh-“

“I’m going to take a piss,” John suddenly said and shuffled into the next cart.

Paul reading a book in one of the booths near the end of the cart. John bit his lip and walked closer towards him. Paul looked up at him, they made eye contact. John stopped for a moment. They stared at each other. John kept walking. Then once he was finished in the loo, he walked back out again. He stopped in front of Paul once again. Why the fuck was he so sweaty all of a sudden?

“Paul, about what I said last night-“

“We were both pissed John, don’t worry about it,” Paul cut him off. He gave John as small smile. John said nothing. Instead, he looked at the book Paul was reading.

“On The Road? Fucking really?” he suddenly said. Paul chuckled.

“Yeah, you were right, it’s pretty dry. Nothin’ else to do here, though.”

“Oh? I thought you would easily get up some bird’s skirt,” John quipped, shooting Paul a toothy grin. Paul responded with the best glare he could muster, but John could see the upwards curve of Paul’s lips.

“You’re on thin ice, Lennon. Thin fucking ice.” John snickered.

“Well since Jack Kerouac’s literary masterpiece is too complex for your feeble mind,” he declared theatrically and Paul rolled his eyes, “me ‘n the lads have a game of monopoly going in the next cart.”

“Who’s losing?” Paul asked. John scratched his head.

“Eh, I can’t really remember, me probably.” Paul beamed.

“Perfect.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting, folks! Seeing the positive reception on the last chapter was super heartwarming. Y'all are too kind. 
> 
> Here's part 2. I hope it doesn't disappoint!

John tossed and turned around the hotel bed, chasing a sleep he never seemed to quite catch. He felt so exhausted by the day, the tour, _his brain_ , and yet his body wouldn’t let him rest. He’d been on the edge of dreaming a few times, most of them involving Paul saying something he could never quite understand, as if he were speaking in a foreign language or something. But instead of pulling him further into unconsciousness, the dreams always left him awake and frustrated… in more ways than one. John sat up suddenly and threw his pillow across the room. He sat there for a second, still. _Paul smelled nice today._ Fuck off.

He eventually walked himself down to the hotel bar only to see Paul and some girl talking to each other. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but instead of appearing smitten and flirty like John had expected, they seemed rather antsy with each other. Eventually, the girl stood up walked away and John let out a breath he didn’t even realize he had been holding. He started to walk over to the bar, replacing the spot the nameless girl had previously occupied.

“Christ, ye really have been down on ye luck with birds,” he said. Paul groaned and lit up a cigarette.

“She’s got a fiancé apparently. Been flirting with me for half the bloody night and only decides to mention it when I suggest we go up to me room.” John chuckled.

“Bloody hell Macca, I always knew you were a flirt, but I never took you for a homewrecker,” he teased. Paul pushed his arm and John started giggling. He quickly swiped Paul’s wine glass and drank the rest of its contents.

“I was going to finish that!” Paul yelled.

“Well you’ll just have to order more then! The night is young, Paulie.”

“John, it’s one in the morning,” Paul pouted. _Shit, why was he so bloody cute-_

“Even better,” John chuckled.

John was drunk. Drunker than last night. He and Paul were stumbling back to their rooms, laughing boisterously at anything the other did. They finally made it up to the ‘Beatle floor,’ as it were, and John watched as Paul began to walk towards his room, suddenly longing for the days back when sharing rooms, sharing beds. And before he gave any thought to the consequences,

“Paul, noooo, stay with me,” John whined. Paul started to giggle.

“So you can insult my taste in birds again? I think not!”

“I was only teasing ye, I swear! Just, c’mon.” John hoped he was being comical enough to hide his real desperation.

“Okay, okay,” Paul finally agreed.

John practically dragged him inside. Paul was still laughing, his smile wide and eyes bright. He was fucking ethereal. He sat down on the bed and John sat on the floor. Paul was smiling directly at John now. John smiled back. It occurred to John that this was how last night should have gone. _But don’t try to tell me you want more than a quick shag like the rest of us!_ John’s own words suddenly invaded his head and he cringed. Paul frowned at friend’s reaction.

“Everything alright, Johnny?” he said in a way that made John’s heart fucking ache.

“I didn’t mean what I said last night,” he murmured. Paul gave him a small smile. Not like the ones before, sadder.

“I know, it’s alrig-“

“The fuck it is!” John exclaimed. “I know you can hold a fuckin grudge Paul! Why don’t you just admit you resent me-“

“You’re doing it again.”

“… sorry.”

“You always are.”

“’m just drunk.”

“I know.” Paul got off the bed to sit beside John. “To be honest, it seems like you’re the one that’s resentful of me.” John clenched his fists.

“You didn’t… you didn’t do anything… jus’ so ye know,” he murmured.

“Then why do you always make me feel like I have?” Paul shot back and John flinched.

_He’s hurt. You hurt him. How do you feel?_

“I don’t mean to…” Perhaps John should just tell him.

_Don’t tell him._ He was probably going to figure it out sooner or later anyway. _He’ll be disgusted with you. He’ll think you’re repulsive._

“It’s just, sometimes, sometimes I feel…”

_He’ll see you as freak._

“I think… _fuck_ , it doesn’t matter anyway.”

“John,” Paul caught his eye. “You can tell me. Whatever it is.” A feeling of safety suddenly rushed through John. It was almost as if he suddenly realized he was talking to _Paul_ this whole time. Paul had seen him at his worst. His most angry and stubborn and pigheaded. At his most vulnerable and scared. And he’d never seen John any more differently. John took a deep breath.

“I think… I think I might be queer.” Paul snorted.

“John yer not queer, you’re drunk. You have a wife, a kid,” he retorted. John shook his head, heart sinking.

“Christ Paul, I bloody wish I was saying this because I was drunk but…” he trailed off. He just stared at the beige carpet below him. He couldn’t look at Paul. He just couldn’t.

“So, what… you’re just pretending with Cynthia? With the other girls?”

“No, that’s not what I-“

“ _Then you’re not queer, are you?_ ”

John could feel his hands shaking and tried to steady them. He just wanted to fucking scream. He wanted to yell and rage. He wanted to cry.

“No Paul, you’re wrong,” he murmured. He didn’t even know why he was fighting Paul on this. Wouldn’t it be easier to just give in? To agree with Paul and let him think John was just saying this because he was drunk. He was just so tired.

“Fucking _how_?” Paul snapped. “John, I’ve seen you picking up birds, heard the way you talk about them, you’re not queer!”

“Keep your voice down, for fuck’s sake!” John hissed. “Christ, do you want wake the whole bloody floor?!”

“What about all the times we’ve shared a bed?!” Paul continued. John felt his heart stop. No, don’t do this. Not this.

_He sees you as a freak._

“Were you planning to make a pass at me?! Were you getting off on it-“

“Paul Shut up! Fucking stop already!” John yelled. He could feel tears forming in his eyes. _Fuck._ “Just… just go back your room,” he murmured.

“John…”

“Yer right… ‘m drunk. I don’t know what I’m saying.” The tears fell. Paul could see them falling. “Just go.” Paul didn’t leave. John’s whole body shuddered when he felt arms being wrapped around him. John couldn’t help but lean into it and god help him he began to sob.

“Come on… it’s okay John, don’t cry,” Paul murmured.

Everything about this fucking _hurt._ It wasn’t okay. Paul was so close to him that John could feel his breath against his ear, and yet somehow it still felt like he was a million miles away.

“John, you’re not queer,” Paul said again, as if he believed if he said it enough times it would become true.

“You think I’m saying this for a laugh?” John whispered. “Why are you being so stubborn about this?”

“Because… because you _can’t_ be queer. If you’re queer, then… then anyone could be.”

“The bloody hell is that supposed to mean?”

Paul said nothing. They were still for a moment, Paul still holing John in his arms.

“How do you even know, anyway?” Paul asked.

“Because… when I look at lads and when I look at birds it’s the same. I feel the same.”

Paul was silent after that. It was deafening.

“You must think I’m disgusting,” John murmured. He felt Paul tense against him.

“John… no… no of course I don’t,” he assured him. “I suppose… it does explain a few things,” he went on. John looked up at him. Paul’s expression was unreadable.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, y’know… I just… nevermind.” John frowned.

“No… Paul, tell me.”

“Well I just thought, perhaps…” Paul hesitated, “perhaps that was the way you felt about Stuart,” he finally said. John grimaced.

“That was a long time ago,” he mumbled.

“You don’t still…?”

“Be a bit tragic if I did, wouldn’t it?” John laughed in spite of himself. Then again, was this any less tragic? Silence returned. John wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. Paul was still holding him. He felt paralysed, as if he was bound in place until Paul released him. It was as if the universe was giving him a cruel, twisted version of what he actually wanted. It made him sick. John heard Paul take in a shaky breath.

“Did you ever… feel that way about me?” he said in a voice that was barely audible, but to John, he might as well had screamed it. John’s heart sped up, his vision blurring even more than usual. Fuck. _Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck._

“I-I wasn’t trying to make a pass when we shared beds if that’s what yer worried about,” he choked out, feigning casualness, as if he wasn’t worried he had just fucked up his friendship irrevocably.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Paul replied. John said nothing, praying Paul would just drop it.

“It’s just if you did feel that way about me I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t mind it.” John’s eyes widened. Paul wasn’t saying… _He couldn’t be saying…_

“What do you mean?” he asked. Paul went stiff against John. “ _Paul_ -“

“Don’t make me say it.” John stared up into Paul’s eyes, vast and endless as they always were, but there was fear behind them. But John was scared too. He couldn’t just guess what Paul meant.

“No… no, Paul I need to hear it,” he pushed. Paul looked away, cheeks flushed. John briefly wondered if there was something deeper behind that blush than alcohol.

“All I’m saying is, you don’t have to hide those feelings from me… you could go further, if you’d like.” There was a pounding in John’s ears, a warm feeling rushing through his body. _Hope,_ he recognised. He raised a shaky hand to Paul’s face.

“Paul… can I…?” he trailed off. Something that resembled understanding flashed through Paul’s eyes.

“Yeah… Yeah Johnny, you can.”

John leant in and closed the gap between them. It was as if something had burst in John’s heart. He was kissing Paul. He was _kissing Paul_. And Paul was kissing back, lips soft and welcoming of John’s own. Paul’s hands found their way into John’s hair and lightly tugged. John had to try his hardest not to fucking _whine_ at that. Christ, he’d wanted this for _so long_. His tongue swiped at Paul’s bottom lip and Paul opened his mouth immediately. His mouth was warm, wet and tasted of expensive alcohol, and yet he somehow tasted better than John could have ever imagined. Better than any guilty wet dream could have conjured up. John’s hips bucked and Paul let out a low groan that sounded downright _sinful._ He thought they could have stayed like that forever, making out on the floor, humping each other like desperate teenagers, though eventually Paul pulled away.

“Let’s go to bed Johnny,” Paul whispered huskily. John nodded.

“I’d like that,” he said. Paul grinned, and John knew that smile was his and his alone.

The light of the early morning streamed through the curtains of the hotel room. John was in a blissful haze staring at the man sleeping next to him in the bed. Paul. _His_ Paul. Paul who he’d known since he was 16. Paul who was lightly snoring, making John giggle every time. There was no pain in admiring his beauty anymore, only bliss. John leant over to plant a kiss onto Paul’s forehead and then buried himself into the crook of his neck.

_I’m glad it was you_ was his last thought before he drifted into a peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed.
> 
> Feel free to comment, it always makes me super happy to see what people thought.  
> Or come talk to me on tumblr: https://theotherproblems.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 2 will be up shortly!
> 
> And hey, if you like it feel free to drop a comment. Comments are fuel.


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